Dean's Girl
by himrqwerty
Summary: AU: Dean has a girlfriend, but when he figures out her deepest secrets, he's heartbroken. Minimal Sam.
1. Chapter 1

I step into the shower, the too-hot water instantly turning my body red and painful. It feels good though, soothes me a bit, and as I adjust, I don't move to clean myself.

Instead, I reach for the one thing that I swore off a couple months after first kissing Dean, after I got myself clean. Still, I never had the heart to throw away the razor blade, it had taken forever to find the perfect one and then find the best way to sharpen it to perfection; if I ever sliced a bit too deep, stitching myself up would be easy.

There is a little compartment that I made myself carved into the very back of the shower. I had cut into it with a scalpel that I stole while in the hospital and hollowed out a small cave, just three inches by three inches. I had carefully built a small plastic drawer that fit into it perfectly and glued the small piece of plastic from the shower to the front. I had then slid it in and repainted the spot. I'm still proud of that. It had taken almost three weeks but you can't tell it's even there if you aren't looking for the small white tab used to pull it open.

It fits my blade perfectly, leaving enough room for padding to assure the edges stayed sharp.

I slid it open for the first time in a while. Seeing the blade there brought about a rush, reminding me what actually slicing my skin, watching the blood well up and pour out, the sting, the raw pain. It made me feel clean. I missed cutting so much.

I stood there, naked, under the water for just a little longer, tracing the numerous scars that littered my thighs, remembering the two or three I had to sew up when I lost control, just that once.

Stopping at one small one a half inch long, I can't help but remember the first time Dean came over. He had seen them then, and that night was the last time I cut, till now at least.

_I had slid on shorts that came halfway down my thigh, shorts I only wore when it was just me. I had been reading, keeping the book open with one hand, the other absentmindedly tracing the scars revealed by my small shorts._

_There had been a knock on the door, and before I had had time to pull on real pants, or a blanket at least, Dean had let himself in, and there was nothing I could do now without arousing suspicion._

"_Hey, babe! I didn't know you were coming over tonight!" I had said cheerfully, trying to not freak out._

"_Yeah, sorry for not calling. It was a long day and I'm really too tired to drive; your place is closer than mine so I'd thought I'd crash here for the night, if that's ok?" Dean had asked, and he really had looked tired._

'_Course babe. You know this place is as much yours as it is mine. No big. How about you head to bed before you collapse and I'll be up in a minute, ok?" I had asked, hoping beyond hope Dean's tiredness would make him not notice a lot of things, but it was Dean. Of course he had._

"_What's wrong?" Dean had asked, seeing the worry in my face through his exhaustion, even with me masking it the best I could, resisting the urge to trace my scars as I usually did to calm myself, as that would only draw attention to them. _

_There had been so many things wrong there - first of all, I had been wearing shorts, which was stupid, second, it had been too bright, too bright, bright, and it had made it easier to spot my thighs. Lastly, there had been Dean. He always knew when something was screwy with me, just as he did his little brother._

"_Nothing," I had told Dean, opting to run my tongue over my teeth instead of my scars. "Work was just long and my boss - well, you know how he gets - and the coffee pot wasn't working. He threw it, almost hit me. I guess I'm still a little shaken up." I had told him, which was only a half-lie, that had happened, but it wasn't what was wrong, per se._

"_Nuh-uh." He had denied the second it left my mouth. "Tell me what's wrong. Now." He had demanded, and started to get actually worried if it was bad enough to lie about._

'Dammit, Dean, can't you just leave well enough alone?' _I had cursed to myself. "Really, Dean. That's it. I'll be fine, go to bed." I had said, setting my jaw stubbornly. _

_Dean had sighed, knowing he would never get a real answer when I looked like that, or when he was so tired._

_Instead of arguing, he leaned in to kiss me._

_Now, this is where it really goes wrong._

_He had put his hands on my thighs, helped support himself while we kissed. I had been too busy trying to convince him I was ok with the kiss that the pain of his palms on my fresh cuts didn't register, or Dean stroking my thigh with his thumb, running it over a cut on top of a scar, feeling it, and freezing. He had started to run his finger over it again and again, as if trying to convince himself it wasn't real, that I was ok._

_He had pulled away, eyes shining with tears and something I had never seen before on him, at least not directed at me. He had been furious. Shaking, he had looked ready to kill someone. I'd only ever seen him wear that look when someone hurt Sammy, the one person Dean really cared about in this world._

_Through gritted teeth, Dean had managed to ask me where they came from, who had done this to me._

_I hadn't answered, just whimpered a bit when he wasn't calming down, when my thighs had started to bleed again, and Dean had just look so angry, so almost scared, that I was almost crying._

_I still remember the look he gave me, the look had been so filled with agony, like I had just sliced his thighs open again and again until they matched mine, which maybe in a way I had._

"_Why?" He had asked, his voice filled with pain and worry, one that he only ever used for those he loved most. _

_And in that brief moment, I had felt so warm and loved - like maybe _ I_ was one of the ones he loved most - but I had dismissed the thought and the warm feeling that had filled me at the thought of Dean loving me back._

_That night, I had promised him to never cut again, that I would always come to him if I felt down enough to cut._

_And I had, when it got bad. Eventually, though, the frequency of the times I had called Dean in the middle of the night sobbing, the itch in my fingers insatiable, had lowered until I called him just to say 'I love you', but I never had left the message._

_And neither had he._

I shake my head clear of the almost happy memory. That warmth that had filled me was the closest to happiness I've been in a long time, but now - now I was worse, the depression hit me hard, the eating disorder came along with, and my blade was never far behind.

I sit down on the shower floor with a thump, sobs racking my body. When did it come to this? I asked myself desperately. I had been so good, so good. Clean.

'I need punishment. For coming back to this.' I tell myself. I lift the hand with the deadly razor and slash, once, twice, three times, then again and again, until there are fifteen slashes covering my thighs, decorating them in my favorite way.

I feel better now. I always do, like a little bit of the darkness in me left with all the blood.

I sit under the pounding spray for a little longer, until I seem to wake up from a long trance, staring down at what I've done to myself again with horror. I scramble to my feet and gently replace my blade.

After carefully rinsing and inspecting my wounds and determining them to be not too deep, sit back down in the corner of the shower, sobbing deeply.

Allowing myself that moment of pity was the second mistake in an hour.

Dean hears.


	2. Chapter 2

Two Hours Later

"Look, you're awesome. You've saved my life more times than I can count. You make the best pie, and you manage to make me laugh. Fucking laugh! How many people can do that except Sammy? Not very many. Just you, really. You aren't worthless. I promise." He reassures me, leaning against the table, eyes boring into my soul.

I turn my head away, not able to stand his piercing eyes, unable to keep the tears at bay any longer, the self-hate overwhelming me for just a second, and a single tear slips out.

"Hey," He says softly. "Look at me." He commands, and when I fail to obey, he lifts his hand and takes my chin gently in his calloused hand, forcing me to do as he says.

Not moving his hand, he searches me with those beautiful eyes. I still can't look at him. I don't want him to see my weakness, the pain that I can't hide anymore.

Dean slides his hand up my face, cradling my cheek in his palm. I lean into his reassuring touch, biting my lip harshly to keep from crying.

His right hand slowly comes up to my neck, like he's touching a wild animal that might bite him, careful to avoid my thighs. He leans in, and for the first time in a long time, his soft lips touch mine. The kiss is filled with pain and need and loss, but something else too. Something I don't want to think about, not now, and maybe not ever.

Breaking the gentle kiss, our foreheads lean together.

"Do you understand now?" Dean asks me.

'_No,'_ is what I want to shout. _'I don't understand how you could love me still, after all I've done, and how you can be so blind to see that I'm no good for you, and that you deserve so much better than I could ever give you. I don't understand, and I never will. I think I've just given up,' _

I don't say those things though, instead opting to shrug and give him the best smile I can while all my thoughts are jumbled and painful, the kiss still lingering on my lips like a persistent cold.

Dean purses his lips, but takes my word for it- _'Thank god' - _and stands up, pressing a kiss to my still-damp hair, going inside.


	3. Not A Chapter

Hey readers-

Just an FYI, I am still under 18, and I managed to get my laptop taken away. I won't be able to update until Monday or Tuesday. Sorry... I'm not very happy about it either, but there's not much I can do.


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